


Jesse's Ghoul

by fullamoxie



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Ghouls, Post-Episode: s05e16 Felina, Walter White Ghoul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullamoxie/pseuds/fullamoxie
Summary: A young man, newly freed from his Nazi captors, is relieved to finally be free and safe. However, he begins to feel the presence of his old dead partner watching him.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Jesse's Ghoul

Jesse stood, half hunched, in the lot out front of Jack’s base. He’d not just stood like that, cool breeze on his face, in at least six months. Across the lot from him stood his old partner, if you could even call what the two of them had a partnership. Moments before, Walter had asked Jesse to kill him. The older man had taken a bullet in the crossfire, and Jesse instead let the man bleed out. However, here, in the cool night air, freedom right in his grasp, he briefly reconsidered. The man had caused Jesse so much misery in the year they’d worked together, and his actions had directly led to Jesse’s enslavement. He shook the thoughts off. Mr. White would be dead in a few hours, and the shadow he cast over Jesse’s life would finally be gone.

* * *

Jesse had gone as far as White Sands before Todd’s car died. He’d been driving for a full day, using what little money he found in the car to buy gas. When he was out of money, he drove until the car stopped just outside of White Sands, New Mexico. Night had fallen, and Jesse, refusing to stay still, wanting to get as far from that hellhole as he could, got out of the car and began on foot.

Walking through the dark desert, night sky above, drifting sand below his dragging feet, Jesse almost felt strangely at peace. There was, as there had often been, that creeping feeling that he was about to be caught at any moment, but there was nobody to catch him. The Nazis were dead, Mr. White was dead, and the cops had no idea where he was.

Jesse stumbled over a rock, but caught himself. He took the last drink from a water bottle he’d found in Todd’s car and continued walking. It must have been some time after that stumble he first began to hear it.

Footsteps, small and faint at first, along the loose asphalt behind him. Jesse had been followed more than a few times in his life, and knew how to look at his follower without arousing much suspicion. It was an old trick Mike had taught him.

However, when he looked, he didn’t see anyone. The footsteps were still sounding, but there was nobody there.  _ Maybe it was just an echo _ , Jesse thought, resuming his trudge. He noticed a thick fog was rolling in.

A few minutes later, he heard another sound. This one, less definite than the echoing footsteps. It might have been the wind, but in his paranoia, Jesse heard the inklings of a voice.

“Jesse,” it whispered, smooth as the cool air around him. Jesse tried to ignore it.  _ Just the wind _ , he told himself.

“Jesse,” it whispered again, more insistent this time. Jesse’s pace quickened. Up ahead, the fog parted, and a building came into view. It was a gas station, shining like a neon star.  _ Water _ , Jesse thought, swallowing dryly. Hope rose in his chest.

“Jesse!” the wind said, this time louder and clear. Jesse jumped, wheeling around. Behind him, there was nothing. He turned back to the gas station, checking to make sure his gun was still in his pants. The station was getting closer now, about a city block away.

The voice on the wind continued calling his name, but Jesse wasn’t listening to it. He almost broke into a sprint for the gas station. However, just as his feet hit the concrete--

The gas station’s lights went out. Jesse jumped, startled by the sudden change. He let out a dry, tired moan.

“JESSE!” the wind said, but this time, Jesse recognized it. It wasn’t just the wind anymore: he had clearly just heard the voice of his old partner. Jesse’s blood ran cold. He whipped around, drawing the gun from his pants in a clumsy motion. When he touched the steel of the weapon he noticed how cold it was outside.

Jesse was ready to shoot, but there was still nobody there. Or, wait. . . was that a figure, standing in the distance? Jesse squinted, but without any light, he couldn’t make out anything more than a vague shape silhouetted by the night sky. It could have been a person, or any number of things.

Jesse was panting. The cold, the exhaustion, and the growing dread were all getting to him. He was just plain tired. He didn’t know how he’d get water from this gas station with no money, but he knew he could figure something out. Jesse slowly turned back to the station, keeping his eyes on the shape in the distance until it was behind his back, making sure it would not move.

The station was what had moved. Instead of standing on the edge of its parking lot, it was once again hundreds of feet away, and the lights were back on. Jesse blinked.

“What?” he muttered between heavy breaths. He glanced around to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. He looked back to the gas station, now on the verge of tears and at a loss for words, and began walking again.

What Jesse had previously thought to be echoes of his footsteps began again, but now they were much different. Long, dragging footsteps, still in tandem with his own movements, but he knew they weren’t his. When he stopped, the footsteps stopped a second later. When he started again, there they were, and every time he looked back, there was nothing there.

As Jesse arrived in the parking lot, he heard the familiar voice once more. “JESSE!” Walter screamed, angrily. This time, Jesse didn’t turn. He began to walk faster, not wanting to let the gas station out of his sight. Jesse stepped onto the curb and a sound ripped through the night sky. This sound wasn’t a footstep, or a whisper, or even a shout. It was a scream.

The scream was like none he’d heard before. In fact, it wasn’t like a sound he’d heard before. The scream was alien; no living person could have made that sound, and Jesse was thinking that it wasn’t a living person who’d made it. It was a scream of pure rage, deep and rough, a single note that lasted almost a minute. The cataclysmic noise reminded Jesse instantly of the Wayfarer Explosion. It paralyzed him with fear, and it took every fiber of his being to not turn. When the scream ended, Jesse, drenched in sweat, finally stepped through the automatic gas station door.

“Yo, anybody here?” Jesse called hoarsely. There was nobody behind the counter or anywhere in sight. His eyes caught movement in the glass door, but it didn’t open.

Nobody answered his call. “HEY!” Jesse screamed, not angry, but frightened. “There’s somethin’ out there, man!” he cried. But still, he got no answer.

Something hard hit the door. Jesse flinched and looked, unable to resist the temptation, but he couldn’t see through the glass. It was pitch-black outside: not from the night sky, but as if the windows had been painted black. The only thing Jesse saw was a large hand flat against the glass, fingers almost twice as long as they should have been. The hand’s skin was leathery and rotted, and as soon as Jesse saw it, a god-awful stench drifted in.

It was bad enough that Jesse, who hadn’t showered in at least six months, nearly vomited. The hand slid down the glass, some skin peeling away as it went, leaving a fleshy trail across the door. Then, another hand appeared. It slammed into the glass, harder than the first had. The hands moved, and their long, rotten fingers began squeezing between the closed doors. Slowly, painfully slowly, the fingers pushed the doors open, and a black mist began drifting in.

The lights went out. Jesse leapt into one of the aisles to hide, his heart beating in his chest.

“Jesse,” said a hoarse, unnatural voice. Then, footsteps began. They got closer and closer, and Jesse began moving down to the end of the aisle as quickly and quietly as he could. He heard the footsteps stop when he turned the aisle’s corner.

“Jesse,” it called. He could hear whatever it was breathing heavily. He must have been breathing loud enough for it to hear, because once again, its footsteps approached. Jesse turned the other corner and began up the other aisle, but before he could make it to the end--

“JESSE!” it cried. The thing was at the end of his aisle now! It let out another scream, just as terrifying as the first, and charged him. Jesse tripped over himself, and rolled over to face his attacker.

He saw the creature in full then. Its rotting, leathery skin was stretched tight against visible, yellowing bones. It was tall, its arms and legs longer than they should have been. The thing’s face was eyeless, and a wide, empty mouth was surrounded by a ginger goatee. Strands of thin hair stuck out at odd intervals over its liver-spotted, wrinkled forehead, and the creature’s wide mouth seemed to shake from the effort of its ungodly scream. But, the most terrifying thing about it was that Jesse could easily recognize the creature as his former mentor and partner.

It was on him in seconds, its vile breath filling Jesse’s nostrils, its scream ringing in his ears, and then its long fingers wrapping around his shoulders. The ghoul lifted him up.

“JESSE!” it screamed. Jesse tried to wriggle away. It placed a hand on his head, its thumb drifting toward Jesse’s eye.

“No!” Jesse cried. “No, no!” He squirmed away from the ghoul’s grasp, finally prying himself free. He landed on the tiled floor again, this time twisting his ankle. He yelped in pain, but had no time.

Jesse reached into his pants, drew his gun, and fired three shots into the ghoul. It screamed and reeled back, giving Jesse long enough to stand and begin hobbling away. He made it out of the door and fell onto the concrete. Something touched Jesse’s shoulder and he flinched away from it, screaming.

He rolled over to see a portly man standing over him. The man was bald and had no facial hair. He wore a shirt with the station’s logo on it.

“Sir, are you okay?” he asked. The gas station’s lights were on behind the man.

“Wh- what?” Jesse breathed.

“I heard you screaming,” the man said. “Are you okay?” he asked again. Then, after looking closer at Jesse, he frowned. “Jesus, you look terrible. Do you want me to call the hospital?”

Jesse didn’t hear him. What was going on? Where was the ghoul? The inside of the gas station was as clean as a gas station could be. The awful smell was gone.

“Is there anybody I can call--” the man began, but Jesse cut him off.

“Water,” he breathed.

As the kind gas station owner gave Jesse water (for free, he later insisted that he was just doing his part to help those in need), he drank and watched the desert outside with a frightened suspicion. He knew that it had been real: the ghoul’s scream was still etched into his memory. However, there was nothing out there.

Jesse calmed down and asked if he could borrow a flashlight.

“Are you going back out there?” the owner asked. “At least wait until morning.” Jesse told the owner that he had to keep going, and he reluctantly let Jesse go with a flashlight.

However, as soon as Jesse stepped outside, he knew he’d made a mistake. The ghoul stood in the distance, staring at him. It tilted its head to the sky and let out another scream.


End file.
